


Tell me, is it worth it?

by AdmiralOptimus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, god I hated that episode with a passion, hahahahah i am still in pain, post despair, s15e20 never happened, soft, ultimate fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27640133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdmiralOptimus/pseuds/AdmiralOptimus
Summary: In the empty, Cas reflects on what never was. In the bunker, Dean searches for an solution.Aka:It is 1 am I finished the finale three hours ago and have decided that it will not be considered canon in any way :)Please accept my post s15e19 hot take and feel comforted.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	Tell me, is it worth it?

Cas had never really figured out the relationship thing.

Sure, he understood the concept. He’d seen it on TV, watched Sam and Eileen smile at each other across the table in the bunker, fingers constantly linked. He’d seen people in bars act like magnets as they got closer and closer and closer to each other, whispering in ears and hands making their ways slowly down closer and closer to reproductive organs. 

Cas saw it. He got how it worked.

Part of it made sense. There was almost a script to follow in the art of one night stands and casual hook ups. There was an even larger beauty to long-term relationships, to Sam and Eileen’s constant connection, their inside jokes, the way they found each other across a room. 

It was from there that it started to get confusing. How, he imagined, would any two people make that choice? Was it a conscious decision, did you wake up and look at the person asleep next to you and think, yes. This is who I want to spend the rest of my life with. This is how I want it to be.

Because if that’s what it was, well. Then Cas had some questions. 

See, Cas had tried the causal relationship thing. He’d go to a bar, find that one person to pay attention to, make small talk, find a joke everyone always laughed at, initiate physical contact by bumping a knee or touching fingers in what could be construed as an accident. He’d done it, he’d built up to it, said all the right things, all of it, dozens of times. But he never followed through. Sure, he’d kissed a guy once or twice in a corner of the bar, feeling a strange mix of very human feelings.

But then he’d realize that something was off. Something he couldnt put his finger on, and he’d say he had to leave early or make some excuse that usually resulted in some upset, a finger in his face, a “bitch” uttered under their breath, a very familiar human anger.

And then Cas would sit there, an ineffective drink in his hand, and he’d try and avoid the inescapable thing that stopped him from following through. 

It wasn't until Cas went to a bar with Sam and Dean that he had to properly confront what he felt.

Sam and Eileen were deeply invested in a game of darts. Sam was losing, very very badly, and Eileen was laughing, clinging to his elbow so she didnt fall over from laughing so hard. Sam was smiling too, his face almost cracked from it. Dean had gone up to the bar, and from the way he was looking around the room, Cas could tell he was looking for a hookup. He made eye contact with a blonde woman by the pool table, and it was over. He sauntered over to her, and Cas watched the script play out. She laughed at his jokes, grasped his arm with a strange amount of familiarity, and smiled when he touched the small of her back.

Cas went up to the bar, holding his glass of whiskey tightly. He closed his eyes.

Because see, the truth was becoming unavoidable. The truth was that he didn't want a hookup, or the domestic life as Steve the employee, he wanted Dean. And now, here he was, in a bar practically designed for humans to seek out eachother, to seek out sex or romance, and Dean was a million miles away. 

Cas pursed his lips. He’d probably known this for years. It was an inconvenience. But it was there. He googled the term once. Unrequited. It was a pretty sounding word. It made him feel meek and gross and twisted inside. He almost felt dirty for wanting Dean in a way he knew Dean could never want back. But that's how it was. 

He’d known the truth when he made the deal with the Empty. He’d known the truth years ago, while he watched Dean and Amara spiral closer and closer. He’d known the truth last week, and the week before that, and the week before that, when Dean gave him the silent treatment. 

He’d known everytime he watched Dean Winchester die, he’d known every time he and Sam searched for a remedy, and he’d known while he felt an all-consuming fear that this death might take. 

And so, when he was running through the halls of the bunker with Dean from Billie, a familiar fear filled him. He knew this could be the one. For either of them, maybe even both. Billie was not forgiving, especially not of the eldest Winchester. So when they ducked into that room, when the door slammed and Billie shrieked in anger, Cas knew what he had to do. 

He closed his eyes, tried to summon everything he’d felt for the last decade. He remembered sitting in the back of the impala, seeing the nape of Dean’s neck, the way he turned his head away from the road to smile at Cas, his eyes in the rearview mirror. He remembered how he felt when Dean congratulated him with his hand placed on his back, the heat in his face when he shoved Dean up against a wall in a fight. He remembered the warmth in his stomach when Dean ran to him in purgatory. 

He opened his eyes. “Dean.” He said. “When Jack was dying-”

_________________________

He waits in darkness now. The darkness is better then when the empty turn’s its attention on him, making him relive regrets and guilt and horror. In the darkness, sometimes, he forgets who he is.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words like acid on his tongue. He meant them. He meant everything he said. It replays in his mind, slowly, sluggishly, like it’s pushing through cement to emerge in his consciousness. 

Maybe this is why relationships never quite made sense to him. Because to him, love was always sacrifice. Love was Sam hurling himself into the cage. Love was shattering an angel tablet. Love was coming back after Dean looked Castiel dead in the eyes and said, coldly, “you're dead to me.” 

Or maybe that's not what love was. 

Maybe Cas knew that too. Maybe he’d always known that.

Yes, there was a time where he loved Dean, every part of him. He loved learning about humans, about kindness and persistence and rebellion. He adored Dean’s irrational affection for a car. But overall, he loved how the man remained so selfless. He’d try and hide it. He’d pretend there was always some other selfish motivator behind his actions, but there wasn't. He would build up a wall for him to hide behind, but even when hell raged in his mind or the world turned against him, he tried so hard to be good.

Castiel missed that. Something in Dean had changed. Cas saw it after Amara. 

He was so angry. Always, angry. Angry at Cas, at Jack, at Sam, at Chuck, at the world. 

Cas stopped thinking about that. He tried not to during his moments of solitude. Those thoughts would be shoved back down his throat when the Empty made the rounds.

Instead, he thought about other things. The warmth he felt when Jack wanted to wear matching ties, the buzzy sensation he felt when he drank enough of a liquor store, the cozy familiarity of his trench coat. He thought about Dean’s smile and his worn leather jackets. He thought about Sam’s face when he saw Eileen. And then, he thought about nothing at all. 

_______

He didn't know how long he’d been in there when he first became aware of the disturbance. There was a shift in the darkness, somewhere. He could feel something was different. He gazed out into the darkness. He closed his eyes again.

But there it was again, the disturbance. A shift in the very being of this place. Castiel felt the hairs on his skin prick up. There was something here. And then, he felt a hand on his arm, a movement wrenching him upwards. Cas panicked for a moment, trying to turn to see what had grabbed him. And then, as his face twisted to make out the face of his captor, there was light, blinding light. 

And then he was on a floor, it was cold and dusty and Cas knew the scent and there was a feeling of euphoria slowly taking over the fear. He could feel someone there too, Cas was all tangled up in their arms and Cas knew it, he knew those limbs. Cas’s shoulder burned. His veins pounded . The world was free of white noise and there was something else, something familiar.

He opened his eyes. 

Dean gazed down at him, his green eyes crinkled with concern and fear and something Cas had not seen in them before. Time had clearly passed. There was some silver mixed into his hair now. The lines around his eyes were more set than before. Cas numbly wondered if he had changed too.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, his voice abandoning the familiar gruff notes.

“Dean,” Cas breathed, and he knew he’d never said anything like he’d said that name. He knew he said it like a man on a ship far at sea, like he was kneeling in prayer, like he was grasping at something, anything.

And before Cas could say anything else, Dean pulled him close, right into his chest, a sob racking through his body. They sat there like that for a while, Dean holding Castiel close as he shook. “I’m sorry,” Dean croaked. “I’m so so sorry.”  
__________

They sat across each other at the table in the bunker the next morning. Cas had not seen Sam yet- Dean explained he was out picking up Eileen from a hunt in Pasadena. He also explained what happened with Chuck, that Jack had taken his place, and all the resurrections that followed (“except for you,” Dean said hoarsely, “Jack couldn't quite reach you.”)

But now there were no explanations. Just silence. Cas looked down at his tea. Dean cradled a coffee. Cas knew it was at least 40% bourbon. 

“I’ve been uh, thinking a lot. Since you left.” Dean said, shifting. 

Cas wanted to wince at the term “left.” He didn't. He watched Dean carefully.

“What you said, it uh. It made me want to change.” Dean leaned forward awkwardly, putting down his coffee and leaning his arms on the table. His face fell into his hands. He looked back up.

“You said I was angry. You were right. I’ve been so so angry these past few years.” He took a breath. “And I took it out on you a lot of the time.”

Cas’s gaze had fallen somewhere on the floor earlier. This made him look right back up. He looked Dean in the eyes.

“I don’t,” Dean choked, “I don’t understand why’d you do that for me. I told you, I’ve been thinking. I was so shitty to you near the end.” His face was becoming wet. He threw his hands up in the air. “I told you that you were dead to me I mean-” he took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t understand how you could see past any of that. I wouldn't have. I couldn't have.” He chuckled humorlessly. “You shouldn't have.” 

“But Cas you were right. You were so right. I had let anger fuel me for so long. And it wasn't fair to you, or Sammy, or anyone else. I hated what I had become. I was so much like-” his voice cracked. “Like my father. And after you. After you said what you said I knew I couldn't be that person anymore.” Dean sighed. “I’m sorry.”

There was a moment of silence. Cas cleared his throat. “For what?”

“For putting you through that.”

There was more silence. 

Dean spoke up again. “Shit. I should’ve written this down. Look, Cas, I’ve known you for more then ten years. You saved me as our form of first introduction. I couldn't let you go out saving me too.” 

“That’s not why I did it.” Cas’s words became hurried.

“What?”

“This wasn't supposed to be some full-circle bullshit,” Cas said, a small amount of unfamiliar range sneaking into his voice. “You know why I did it, Dean. I told you. Say it.”

“Cas-”

“I want you to say it.” Cas interrupted.

“I-”

“It’s not that hard, Dean-”

“You said you loved me!” Dean almost shouted the words. “That's what you said. That was the reason.”

Cas nodded. His eyes found the floor again. 

“I just. I don't understand why.” Dean’s voice was filled with more emotion than Cas knew what to do with. “I don’t. You said it too, I was so angry.” His voice was broken again. “I was this ugly husk of who I used to be when you said it. I had treated you like shit. I was-” He took a steadying breath. “You're an angel, Castiel. You're this, this incredible thing. I didn't used to think angels were capable of love, you know, back when we first met, because you were all so autonomous. But Cas, god, you just. You have so much of it for this world, for Jack, for Sam,” his voice cracked violently now as silent tears made their way down his cheeks, “for me.”

Castiel tipped his head to the side as the hunter cried.

“And after you left I was thinking. Like I said. I would lay awake and I’d remember how goddamn much you gave up.” He wiped his nose. “I mean, you disobeyed God. You-” He was starting to sound hysterical. “And I started thinking “what if that was all for me,” and I know I’m probably just a raging narcissist and that was never even in the cards for you but,” he choked again. “But I couldnt live with myself anymore, knowing how fucking much you gave for us, for Sam and I. And then everything was fixed and Chuck was gone and Lucifer was dead and I still just. There was something missing, you know? I was supposed to be thrilled we’d finally saved the world, and I’d lie awake and think about you.” 

The tears were not silent anymore. Dean was a mess. Cas was starting to become one too. 

“And I knew. I knew then that I-” Dean spluttered. “That I loved you too. I was so blind to it back then. Maybe I did know, deep down. There were times when I almost did something about it, almost said something or finally just fucking kissed you, but I told myself I was being irrational and lonely and stupid.” Dean took a breath. “And then you, you said that and you disappeared and-” He tried to steady himself. “I couldn't live with myself anymore.”

Tears were falling down Cas’s face now. His eyes searched for connection across the table.

“Dean,” Cas whispered.

“And then I was too late. So I couldn't stop. I had to find you.” He chuckled dryly. “It took years. Sam and Eileen got married, you know, while I looked. Charlie did too. Everyone else was moving on and creating lives and I couldn't do that without you, Cas.” He laughed again, his throat sore and voice chaotic. “I didn't want a future without you in it. I couldn't comprehend that.” 

He sighed. “I have a lot to apologize for. But I want you to know that I,” he paused again. “I love you. And I’m sorry it took me so long.” 

Cas sat in the silence for a moment. He cleared his throat. He leaned forward, reaching his hands out. His fingers found Dean’s, calloused and rough and entangled.

“Okay,” he breathed.

“Okay?” Dean found his eyes.

Cas smiled. “Okay.”

And then their foreheads were touching and Cas could feel the relief flooding through their bodies and they just sat in the deafening silence with their hands tangled and breaths timed perfectly to match one another. Cas closed his eyes as Dean’s hand caressed the side of his face. “All that said,” the hunter whispered, “if you ever pull that sacrifice shit again I will end you.” Castiel chuckled. “The point of the sacrifice part,” he whispered, “is that there's nothing left to end.” And then they pulled apart and Dean shoved him playfully and Cas drank his lukewarm tea and it was good. It would be good. And that was all they needed.


End file.
